


Skin

by Arura



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arura/pseuds/Arura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taxidermy phobia: A combination of Doraphobia (fear of animal fur/skin) and Automatonophobia (fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being.).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

**Author's Note:**

> story by: H.R.Holcomb

Skin

 

I honestly enjoy museums. Interacting with history in a visual and almost tangible way is the best way to learn things in my experience. I’m one of those types that can read something ten times over and it just would not stick very well in my memory. So I found museums very comforting. 

But one thing that makes me uneasy, is the taxidermied heads or bodies of various animals on display. I avoid those rooms as long as I could help it. Such a stupid fear really. I know very well that it’s just skin tightly tapered over a mannequin body, the teeth and eyes were plastic and there was no muscles or synues that would logically allow movement. I also know that zombies are scientifically impossible. And yet, taxidermied animals scare me just as badly as any horror film or creepy pasta I listen to via youtube. A phobia is an illogical fear or stigma, because of that only forced ignorance or medication could possibly calm one down from such a thing. Something about how the animals are portrayed just unnerves me. Life like poses and yet they are perfectly still with fake stares and false bared teeth. Even a standard buffalo head gives me the creeps, no teeth but a life like head just hanging there, mimicking life yet not really. Plastic, lifeless eyes, positioned in my direction; I knew they couldn’t move, there was nothing to move them and those eyes were like buttons anyway, they weren’t spheres or anything. It was all fake. Like an adult version of a stuffed toy or something. I’d gladly have toys posing for me as a trophy, not something I knew very well was just skin and stuffing.

Skin is such an odd thing. It’s the largest organ we have and it is difficult to imagine living life without it. We depend on our skin in presenting ourselves to the world and do our best to take care of it or we’re outcasted for seeming different. Some decorate their skin with piercings or ink to express themselves in creative ways, which I will always respect; I have a tattoo myself.  
Burn victims have skin-grafts so they can recover better and attempt to function in society again. But their skin is alive, it moves, it flexes, it is attached to synues and muscles and bone. Alive and functioning. Thus I have no fear from someone who is burned, has piercings or tattoos. I know the basics of what is under their skin and that is fine by me.

But an animal’s skin? I wish I could tell you why is frightens me. It’s almost like disassociation or having a surreal moment when I look at a pelt on a wall or the floor, or a trophy of a raccoon or armadillo posed on a table. A sensation of my back going numb with a faint tingling and I feel my insides quiver and lurche as I attempt escape from such displays. The mimicry of life when there was none, I think that could be it.

One night, I had a dream of this phobia. I was in a warehouse; dark with so little lighting. I had a flashlight and I was surrounded by taxidermied animals of all sorts. Bears, rhinos, a cheetah, a lioness, small creatures like meerkats and rodents were on shelves while the bigger animals stood on the floor. Even a dolphin was hanging above my head. I shuttered and just wanted out of that hell hole and wake up. I heard a shuffling noise behind me and I froze. Quickly I turned a corner, the shuffling quickened. It sounded like a dense fabric dragging along the floor. I did not dare to look behind me as I frantically searched for an exit out of that labyrinth of skin draped statues. Soon I noticed the figures move slightly, as if turned by a ghostly force; so rigged and lifeless they managed to watch me as my running started to slow down. That awful phenomenon when your nightmare refuses your ability to run away. Dreading it, I turned around only to see a pelt of a spotted cat following me. I say pelt because there was no eyes or teeth to threaten me, just its fur, guided along by invisible puppet strings that did not exist. My flashlight shook, more pelts, more skins emerged to be bathed in the light of my flashlight. Stripes, browns, blacks, tans, any fur you can imagine, it was probably there, staring at me. All of them slithered towards me. I attempted to run again, but I may as well have tried it at the bottom of a filled pool. All I saw was a black void, even my flashlight could not pierce the veil. Then I heard a growl.

That would be when I woke up; my eyes just snapped open and I breathed deeply as if I were holding it for a solid minute. My apnea must have acted up again as I slept. I felt so heavy, snapping out of a dream like that always left a kind of paralysis for me; thankfully it never lasted enough to inspire panic on my part. It was early morning, so my room was still dark. I rolled over in the bed quietly, sighed to myself and attempted sleep again so the daylight could come faster. It was an hour before I decided to sit up. I went to the bathroom to get an iron pill from the medicine cabnet. If I was going to be awake, my morning rituals may as well take place. When I looked at my pale face in the mirror, I noticed how pale my lips were. Which was typical, I’ve struggled with animea for several years now, thus the iron pill. When my eyes shifted to my t-shirt, which was red, I noticed dark strands of fur. At first I thought it was my cat Leo’s fur. So I reached to pick the hair off, however I noticed something more. Granted, Leo was a long haired cat, but his fur was always downy soft. It wasn’t my hair, mine is fine in structure and brown. This fur was foreign. It was thick, coarse. I might have compared it to a long hair of a dog, which would have soothed me surely. The kicker being, I did not have a dog of that color or of that hair structure. 

I took a breath. Maybe Leo actually had a few thicker strands of hair; his winter coat was coming in at the time, so surely that was it. I dropped the hair into the trash and pushed the disturbing thought out of my head. I tried to not think about that horrible dream. By the rest of the day, I was fine and functioned just fine. Bad dreams are just that.

Then, I got a call on my cellphone. I took a chance and answered the strange number and was delighted to discover that it was the manager of the museum I applied for a job to. I always wanted to work in a museum and share my enthusiasm for history with others. The manager seemed entertained by my excitement, which I rarely had if you can understand. 

“We have a guard position up if you’re willing,” he said.

“S-sure,” I answered, jittery from the escalated pulse in my chest. “Admittedly I never guarded before, but I’ve babysat if that counts for anything.” 

The manager laughed. “It’s not that hard really. We just give you a uniform and keys, flashlight and so forth and you just patrol the museum after hours and kill time until morning. As soon as there’s something better I could shift you to it.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me sir. I love museums too much to be picky.”

“Good! Of course, all the rooms need to be personally checked. We don’t have the fundings for too many cameras I’m afraid.”

That caused a pause in me. “Silly question...That means the basement too right?”

“Yup. But you’ll be fine.”

I wanted the job, I really did. So I agreed to the terms against my better judgement. You see, the basement level was where the taxidermied animals were displayed. I gathered what courage I had. It was just skin snuggly wrapped around a mannequin. Harmless and lifeless; no way something like that could cause me harm. And if memory was correct, a majority of them was behind a plexiglass window. Even if some sci-fi horror show worthy of an event were to happen, they’d be trapped anyway. A dumb way of thinking, but it helped my nerves somewhat.

That following week I received my uniform, a set of keys and a five pound metal flashlight. I felt pretty cool to be honest. All official with a uniform and such, it was rather empowering. I would arrive at the museum around ten in the evening. Which was fine, I was usually nocturnal anyway, but I brought my gameboy just in case along with its charger. Perhaps not the most professional thing to do to bring a videogame with you for an all nighter, but it was a necessary comfort, since I was nervous about my first night. 

Flashes of my nightmare the week before flickered through my mind as I trekked the corridors. I inspected the interactive areas, and searched the areas I deemed logical for hiding places. There was a display of a First Nation group of three butchering a buffalo carcass behind a fence of plexiglass that was about hip height. It was a demonstration in how the Native Americans utilized everything they could of their hunt. This did not creep me out oddly enough. The head of the buffalo was hidden, the innards of course were plastic that were carefully sculpted for realism. The fur of the buffalo was obviously fake, like a shag rug that was dyed. That was probably why it didn’t bother me. 

I continued, the dead silence of the museum was almost unnerving. I was so used to the place having some kind of noise every time I visited. Either with people or sounds of the exhibits. With this silence, it was certainly surreal. I felt detached as I walked around, examining the dinosaur bones carefully. I lingered in that room on purpose. This was my most favorite part of the museum. I had fond memories with my father as he helped me learn about the Allosaurus that greeted everyone in the middle of the room. I remembered that chill it gave me as I looked up at it for the first time at the age of six. I smiled at the memory. I was always thankful to my dad for teaching me that history could be interesting. Especially when creatures beyond imagination once existed. Skeletons never bothered me. Dino-robots in other museums fascinated me but again, I was never unnerved. Perhaps startled by an estimated screech or groan the dinosaur might have had, but it was never the same sensation compared to taxidermy. I figured it was because I knew the dino’s skin was latex and foam, not real skin. As much as I’d wish it, such an exhibit was not in this museum. The Science Center downtown, that was an annual event thing. Maybe I should have gotten a job over there instead of a place that had stuffed animal pelts. At least this could be a “in the mean time” job, there’s always the option of two jobs, and with night guard on my resume, perhaps that would get my foot in the door. Guarding dinosaurs would surely be more soothing.

I had to duck under the heads at the end of the exhibit; taxidermied heads of a buffalo, antelope and a mountain goat as I was entering the “Planes” section of the museum where there was a teepee on display. Even the herbivores creeped me out, just heads or no, I could not help myself. I shuddered and shook myself to focus; I do not deny I did the typical shiver-dance people do when they are disgusted with something. Then it was just vehicles after that, then the oil industry, the different drills the rig-people would use to dig into the ground, tiny movie theaters for various lessons, examples of offices, so forth; standard museum stuff.

The second story wasn’t that exciting; windmills, old cars that would make Jay Leno sweat with longing, World War one and two weapons, some guns that survived the old western days or were weathered copies. Again, that surreal quiet started to bother me again. I tried to hum but that was more awkward than the silence. My tone usually bothered me, I often found to have difficulty controlling my pitch. 

I explored as much as I could. I double checked the ground floor and stalled. I did not want to go down stairs. I always avoided the down stairs when I was by myself in the museum. But I had to do it, as a guard it was my duty to be thorough. I flipped a switch to the lower floor; no way I was going to be armed with just my flashlight, not after that nightmare I had. 

With a deep breath, I did my best to brace myself. Just a quick look, that was all. I didn’t have to be there long, just enough to make sure nothing is amiss and I could dart back upstairs like the devil was chasing me. 

“It’s just skin,” I told myself. “Just skin and plastic. Skin and plastic.”

I gripped my metal flashlight like a club, took another breath to puff my chest up then stepped across the threshold and into the room. The first box on the back wall I saw a bobcat, posed on a branch, ready to pound a prairie dog. I shivered. The bobcat was not looking at the prairie dog; who ever constructed it did not pose the head right, or perhaps it was the prairie dog that was in the wrong spot. However, it always felt the bobcat was watching me as I entered the room. I knew full well those eyes were just color and glass, no tendons were connected to those fake eyes, they couldn’t move. I shook my head, daring myself to get a grip on myself as I forced myself to move. I focused on the various flints and brands ranchers used, then the miniature displays. This was dumb, I was working not on tour for a casual visit. I made myself look around the room. Birds, rodents, snakes all having energetic poses; however I could tell it had been a while since they had been dusted. I wouldn’t touch those animals with a twenty foot rod if I had the choice. In the corner of the room was a Hunter’s Lounge display. It was emerald green with a zebra and leopard pelts, along with heads of an antelope and a deer on the wall. An elephant’s foot that was converted into an ottoman was in front of a red velvet chair that had horns that made up the chair’s legs and arms, also the frame for the back. There was a desk with an ink well and a small monkey holding a plate. Of all the taxidermied things in this room, that corner just did not sit well with me. 

I continued along the wall and made myself breathe. It was just skin on mannequins. What was the big deal? I never understood this fear of mine. 

After a moment, I could have swore I heard a low rumble, like a cat growling. I froze. My nightmare flashed in my mind again. I shook myself once more. It was dead quiet in the museum, sometimes the imagination is loud and you think you hear something. Figmate of my imagination. That was all, it had to be. Then I heard a kind of dragging sound... like heavy fabric against the floor. 

Needless to say I was very motivated to leave the room as fast as my legs would allow me, I didn’t even bother with the light switch when I left. 

“Nope!” I chanted to myself and did not stop my urgent sprint until I was at the front of the museum where the gift shop was. 

Surely it was my loud imagination again, desperate for noise my brain created its own, surely that was what happened. I took a seat behind the greeting desk and pulled out my game boy. Perhaps some pokemon battles would help me calm down. The music was a wonderful welcome as I distracted myself for as long as the battery would last. Occasionally I could look up and behind myself to make sure that eerie “being watched” feeling was misplaced. Then I remembered... there was a full bodied buffalo near where the gift shop was in the far corner of the foyer. I forgot the big guy was there, I never could afford the gift shop, so I hardly looked in that direction. Forced ignorance seemed to be a practical approach as I resumed my game. 

I heard a clinking sound. I quickly muted my game and listened intently. The chinking sound again, as if the metal part of a velvet rope was swinging. My eyes detected movement, the velvet rope indeed was moving, the one under the buffalo’s nose. It wasn’t a violent swinging, just slow enough to register movement. I sat there silently, slowly I turned the bright screen of my gameboy toward the buffalo. I felt horrified to realize that the velvet rope was still moving without obvious stimulus. Automatically I thought of a ghost showing off some energy. I was tempted to just grab the keys and leave. However, the sense of duty was surprisingly overwhelming. I took my seat again and attempted to continue my game. For a while, the gentle music and the distraction of leveling up my Ivysaur to a Venusaur was very effective in keeping my nerves in check. 

Six o’clock in the morning came a bit sooner with the help of my trusty gameboy, I saved and pocketed the game then got ready to leave. 

The man who hired me relieved me and I was all too eager to head home. Slowly I admitted my difficulty during my first night, especially in the wild-life exhibit. 

“You too huh?” The manager mentioned with a not so surprised expression.

“Huh?”

“I hate that room too. Nearly the whole staff does. I mean, there’s a reason why they’re a bit dusty, no one wants to risk touching them.” 

“But,” I stuttered. “Wait, I’m not the only one freaked out by the taxidermy?” 

“It’s not a matter of being ‘freaked out’,” he air quoted. “The staff had reported scratches on their hands when they attempt dusting the exhibits. One keeper swore up and down that the hackles of the bobcat flared up. As you can imagine, that’d be impossible.” 

“I-is it okay if I just skip the basement? I mean...”

“I’m afraid not, but I don’t blame you. Tell you what, I’ll stay with you tonight when your next shift comes. People tend to go less crazy with company.” 

I did not argue. Perhaps I would be braver with a breathing person next to me, and not something I think is breathing. Stuffed animals don’t scare me as badly with company around. That night just made my skin crawl. 

Thankfully I was not made fun of for my phobia. In fact my manager hired an extra guard so we could watch out for each other and so that we could inspect the wild-life room more effectively. I still heard the dragging sound, which caused a panicked spin. My co-worker saw that I was unnerved and helped me quickly look over the room and let me climb the stairs first while he flicked the lights off. I felt like such a coward, but it could not be helped. 

Even though it is just skin, I never felt right in that room. It was like I felt their contempt, all those pelts; posed and lamely reconstructed with stiff figures that could leave Jet Li rattled to the core. I felt targeted, like I was invading territory. At least I wasn’t as threatened with the buffalo in the foyer; all he did was puff at the rope. 

It’s just skin on mannequins. I keep telling myself that when I’m about to go to sleep. I’ve been working there for a month, eventually I was moved to the day shift, where I just monitored the people passing through the museum and offered my tidbits of trivia to those who were willing to listen to me. Though, I pretended to have acknowledged the wild-life room. 

The night guard that took my place quit the other day. Just turned in his uniform and supplies and just left. I nearly felt a anxiety attack come over me when I learned this. I did not want night shift if I could help it. I even prayed (and I don’t do that often) not to have that night shift again. I threatened to quit myself, or at least I would not go down there without a bottle of blessed water and perhaps salt to throw. I needed a way to defend myself in their territory; or I was afraid I would lose my own skin one day. And if you can imagine, I’m rather attached to my skin.

I don’t care if you see me as a coward, or someone with an active imagination. I know for a fact that I am not crazy, though if this night shift crap continues, I just might be. 

I had an idea though. I remembered that the Japanese would make offerings to the spirits of loved ones, often in the form of food. One night, I had a bag of meaty treats and some sunflower seeds stashed in my pockets. The next time I braved the wild-life room, I willed myself to place an offering on every ledge of every box display there. The bobcat and prairie dog received three meaty treats and a few sunflower seeds. I offered the birds a whole row of seeds, the three foxes had nine treats, the pelt room also had a ledge worth of sunflower seeds. I was still nervous, but I made myself be brave. I felt my hands shake as I continued my offerings of treats and seeds to the other various creatures. Then I heard the dragging. Without looking I gently tossed three meaty treats behind me, then I quickly walked out of the room and turned off the lights after activating my flashlight. I felt a little easier leaving the basement that night. I left the rest of my seeds with the buffalo that shared the foyer with me. Though I pushed the bag toward it with a broom handle. I resumed my pokemon game until dawn and felt less paranoid.

Tonight I plan to do the same thing. Despite it being against the rules to bring food into the building, the coorater can kiss my anemic ass.


End file.
